


30 Steps Together

by ShatteredSwallowtail



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 01:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20555876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatteredSwallowtail/pseuds/ShatteredSwallowtail
Summary: Just another little collection for the I think now-defunct lj community called 30 kisses. Basically, 30 prompts for one pairing, each one had to feature a kiss. I chose to make them all sequential, following the first 30 days of Ichigo and Rukia as a couple. Varied ratings, mostly for Ichigo's mouth, but nothing explicit or objectionable. I  LABEL my porn, thanks, XD





	1. Day 1 - Two Simple Words

Light bit it's way into squinted eyes as he raised his palm slightly, the momentary removal of the appendage from it's prior resting place across his face allowing for the keen rays of midday sun to pry their way past eyelids to strike at brown eyes that he felt sure had not been designed for contact with that sort of brightness. Damned sunshine, why did it always have to mock him this way? Orange brows pulling away into a scowl as he squinted through his lashes, waiting for the stinging to fade as amber-coloured optics carefully adjusted themselves to the light's intrusion, Ichigo pushed himself up into a sitting position on the roof, legs folding, long arms draped across them with a sigh.

And that was yet another thing to curse the light for. Up until now, he'd been enjoying a rather pleasant snooze, the sort that served to drown out all the _other_ things in his mind, other things that were more troublesome and difficult to deal with -- not that most things in life, at least as of late, hadn't proved to be troublesome -- along with those things that were just downright distressing. Like the Arrancar. Or Aizen. Or... how he was supposed to start studying for college entrance exams in a year or so if he spent all his free time hunting Hollows. Or.... how he'd kissed Rukia yesterday.

That particular gem of information sent his mind crashing to a halt as he visibly winced. Yeah... _that_ was the one he'd been trying to avoid. Shit, well there was no chance of that NOW. Now that he'd managed to think about it again, his mind was going to just cling to it and refuse to let it go, worrying it like a dog on a bone. Not cool. Mentally he reminded himself to have a chat with that portion of his brain -- along with the one he never talked about, the one that persisted in dirty thoughts of Rukia and chocolate syrup and all sorts of other juicy things that he was always telling it were NOT juicy -- that such things were not allowed, and well outside the realm of things that he OUGHT to be thinking about. Or doing, for that matter!

With a groan, he unfolded his arms and just flopped back against the tiles, thanking whatever gods there were as the sun blissfully retreated behind one of the various puffy white clouds in the sky. He could get to like clouds. So that out of the way, _now_ all he had to do was get his mind OFF of the subject of kissing Rukia.

Kissing Rukia... what the hell had possessed him to DO that in the first place anyway?! Sighing, -- since it was obvious his mind was winning this round -- he shook his head, covering up his eyes again. That had to have been one of the most colossally STUPID moves he could have made. And for what? So she could stare at him like he'd grown another head? The beeping of her soul pager going off had actually been a _Godsend_ at that point, not only because it helped to defuse the awkwardness of the situation, but because it also saved his ass from what he assumed would have been a rather nasty beating once she'd gotten over the initial shock.

But as much as he was still reeling from the sheer weight of it -- he'd kissed RUKIA -- he couldn't silence that part of his brain -- which he was learning was larger than he'd thought -- that persisted in commenting about how it was far from unpleasant, how it was actually rather nice, and how it would have been nicer if she'd kissed him BACK, so he could have figured out if she really did taste as sweet as he'd always thought she- NO. BAD train of thought. Grinding a fist into his head, he growled at himself. That was NOT what he was supposed to be thinking about.

Sighing, he leaned his head back, forcing thoughts AWAY from the kiss itself, and more to the.... well, honestly, to the _why_ of it. It wasn't like he'd blurted out some sort of corny, sappy confession or any of that cheesy crap like she read when she was supposed to be doing homework. Hell, that was why he'd kissed her in the first place. Or at least.... why the situation had presented itself. She'd been sitting on his bed, reading one of her dumb romance manga, and he was leaning with his back against the side of the bed, doing what they were _supposed_ to be doing, and patently ignoring her. Until she'd started kicking his head and he'd started growling that whatever the hell she wanted to ask could wait until he finished his damn math problem. And then when she -- predictably -- hadn't stopped, he'd slammed his book closed and craned his neck back to snarl something scathing at her, only to stop dead to find that she'd shifted her position on the bed and was now laying on her stomach, head leaning off the edge so she could point at something in his math book, something she didn't recognize. Which meant.... that he'd turned right into her, their faces only an inch or two apart.

And that was where it had gotten complicated. Because his retort had died on his lips the moment he'd suddenly found those amethyst pools staring at him. Swallowing hard, he vaguely remembered thinking how he'd never realized quite how deep a violet they were, or how there were little flecks of blue and lavender in them here and there. Or how that one lock of hair that always fell in her face suddenly looked so soft, but not as soft as her lips, pulled as they were into a confused pout as her eyebrows raised, obviously confused as to what sort of drug he was on that he'd just spaced out.

Which he should have taken advantage of to stammer out something snarky about how she was lucky he hadn't bashed her in the forehead with his head, and to stay out of his personal space. And that was why it had made NO SENSE to him that through some mysterious turn of events and thoughts that he didn't even really remember, he'd found himself leaning up just enough to catch her lips with his own for a brief few seconds.

It had only BEEN a "brief few seconds" because that had been all it had taken for his eyes to snap open wide as he'd realized exactly _what_ he was doing, and to slowly -- because he was trying to gauge how long he had before her fist hit him square in the face -- back up, swallowing and trying to look anywhere BUT at her. And the awkwardness had only persisted as she, rather then following her normal habits and re-introducing him to her fist, simply sat there in stunned silence. Which was why he'd had to thank the gods for the soul pager, that annoying beeping suddenly becoming the sweetest music he had ever heard in his life as it cut through the stifling silence, sending them back into business mode. Except... they hadn't really talked since then. Mostly because he'd been avoiding her, but that was really beside the point, wasn't it?

Leaning his head back with a soft clunk against the tiles, he heaved a sigh, closing his eyes and letting the warm sun -- ok, so maybe the sun wasn't SO bad -- play across his eyelids. Or... he did that until that rather nice warm feeling was suddenly blocked by what could only be a shadow. Slitting eyes opened, he cracked his head against the tiles in surprise at finding that same pair of violet eyes looming over him as he backpedaled with a yelp of surprise and a smattering of curses. NOT good. He still hadn't figured out how to deal with her, it was just very, VERY bad timing for her to suddenly just... _appear_ like that. Sitting up, he directed a scowl her way as she raised an eyebrow with a slight chuckle.

"Ichigo, was that a girly-scream just then?"

Oh that just wasn't fair. First she confuses him, then she -- somehow, because she was female therefore it was her fault -- makes him kiss her and make an idiot of himself, then she makes him brood over it, and NOW she was mocking him about yelling when she startled him? Completely unfair. Glaring at her, he gave a humph, crossing arms over his chest.

"It was not." Another moment of silence, before brown eyes flickered up to meet hers before glancing away. "So... what do you want?"

Well that didn't go as well as he might have hoped, seeing as it netted him a punch to the top of his head as she stalked over and plopped down beside him, leaning back on her hands to look up at the cloud-pocked sky. They simply sat like that for a moment, in silence, until he was nearly ready to reach over and choke her, to demand that she _just say something_, not that he even cared _what_ it was at this point, just that she did something to break the silence -- since he was her fault to begin with. But this time, at least there was _one_ god on his side, as she sighed and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face.

"This is nice, you know. Nice and peaceful for a change."

Ok, that was easy to deal with. Simple, uncomplicated. Pulling legs up and resting his elbows on his knees, he nodded, eyes still stubbornly directed away from her person. So this was the answer, it seemed. Ignore it, pretend it never happened, and just go on with things. That was good, right? So... if it was so good, then why did it somehow feel a bit hollow? Ignoring the feeling, he just let the light breeze ruffle his hair, hoping that she'd keep the conversation going. That way, at least, his brain wouldn't have to deal with trying to figure out why exactly what he should have wanted her to do didn't match up with... well, with what he wanted her to do.

Those thoughts went out the window as, in what he could have sworn was fate's way of laughing in his face, she bypassed such happy subjects as "the weather", "cars", "Hollow-stuff", or "stupid-girl trivia" and went straight to the more embarrassing topics.

"So.... where do we stand now? After.... you know..."

Great. _Just_ great. Was there some REASON why she couldn't just NOT broach that subject. Hell, at this point he'd have been willing to talk about _Chappy_, just to keep from thinking about.... yeah.. Clearing his throat to hide the momentary stammer as he tried to come up with _something else_ to talk about, he managed to shrug his shoulders and spit out a "dunno". Not the most elegant of answers, and obviously not one that his pint-sized companion considered "satisfactory", seeing as how she reached over and clocked him in the head for it. With a scowl and swear, he rounded on her in outrage. "The hell was that for?!"

"Because you're giving a stupid answer!"

Obviously, that made sense to _her_. It had to have, seeing as how it made NO sense to him, and the things that he knew about girls and the way that they thought had assured him that whatever made sense to _normal people_ didn't make sense to them, and vice versa. Leveling a glare at her, he made it a point to roll his eyes dramatically and act as offended as he possibly could. Maybe that would keep her from realizing that he was most certainly NOT comfortable with the way this conversation was heading. "You asked where we stand, how the hell should I know? If you want to know somethin' else, then ASK somethin' else."

He watched her fume for a moment, the way she gritted her teeth and clenched fists at her sides, even the way one foot raised slightly off of the ground as she stood up, in preparation to kick him. "Oh, I don't know. Let's start with why did you kiss me yesterday? And how about what the hell were you thinking? Or maybe what am I to you? Or how about _why did you kiss me_?"

It really wasn't helping matters that she was punctuating each question with a sharp blow of foot to shin, all but kicking him across the roof as she did so. No, that _definitely_ wasn't helping. With a snarl and a yelp, he tried to backpedal, choosing instead -- when that failed, as he'd somehow expected it to -- to hook an ankle around one of hers and give it a yank. The goal, of course, was to send her sprawling for long enough that he could _get away_. That being the case, it was NOT a part of his goal to have her fall _onto him_, landing sprawled across him in yet another compromising position, face mere inches from his.

He froze, noting with at least some degree of satisfaction that she'd done the same -- good, at least he'd managed to shut her up for a moment. And stop the kicking -- but it was rather hard to gloat at the moment seeing as how he was too busy trying not to MOVE, much less do anything else. Which was the likely reason why his eyes widened impossibly as a small smile curved the corners of her mouth for just a moment before she leaned down, pressing lips against his in a soft kiss.

It wasn't like the last kiss, or at least that was what his mind tried to tell him -- even as it tried to wonder why he was now kissing her back, why his arms had somehow wrapped around her, holding her against him the way he currently was. It was strange, in a way, how just the barest touch of her mouth against his -- hell, any part of her against him really -- sent an electric shock through him, a jolt of feeling and emotion that he couldn't even really identify, couldn't figure out or even hope to understand.

Almost like a lightning bolt, but the impact didn't hit only his body -- though the tingling made him wonder a bit -- no, it was as if it shot straight to his very _soul_, shaking everything to the core as he tightened his grip on her, hesitantly deepening the kiss slightly, mind disengaging itself rather easily from logical things such as the frantic assertions that he most certainly was NOT enjoying this, and that he could stop anytime. Both blatant lies, but who was going to tell?

The moment ended nearly as quickly as it had begun, though his aching lungs bore silent witness to the contrary, and he was left staring up at her, brown eyes confused in a face that was rapidly turning the colour of the trim on her dress. Which was to say, a rather rich shade of crimson. Her black eyebrows quirked, drawing together slightly, and oh god, did he actually flinch when she leaned down -- it wasn't his fault, it was the reflexes, really! -- and pressed her forehead against his with a sigh, closing her eyes and just... staying there.

"I love you..."

And there was yet another jolt, but this one wasn't quite as pleasant. It wasn't _bad_, per se, but... definitely a bit more unexpected. Ichigo's mouth opened for a moment, and there was a period where he probably looked a good deal like a stranded fish. That.... what the hell did he SAY to that? Obviously, the normal thing would be "I love you too", or some other derivative of that, but he just.... it wasn't that he didn't necessarily feel the same way. He wasn't dumb, and as much as he tried not to think about it, he could grudgingly admit that yeah, he probably felt the same. But actually saying it.... well, that was something different.

Shaking his head slightly, he tried to make his mouth work again, to say something -- because God knew she'd DEFINITELY beat his ass if he didn't say ANYTHING -- only to be cut off by the press of her finger against his lips as she shook her head. That... didn't make sense, he was sure there had to be some sort of trick going on here. Unless she was trying to tell him to just give up now because she knew he'd say something stupid and she didn't feel like beating him right now. THAT actually made even less sense, as he couldn't really remember a time when Rukia _hadn't_ wanted to beat him... And yet here she was, shaking her head slightly and even leaning down to press lips to his again.

"I know."

A simple sentence -- hell, it wasn't even really a sentence in itself, just a fragment of thought -- but it seemed to somehow carry so much more weight than two words really had a right to hold. Maybe it was the way she said it, or the look in her eyes that somehow told him that she knew, she knew how he felt, and above even that, she knew that even though he might feel it... actually _saying_ it was something that would have to come with time. And she could wait for that.


	2. Day 2 - Sidewalk Tunes

Had she been thinking, _really_ thinking, and not simply letting her mind wander through the clouds as it was want to do in some circumstances, the girl might have realized how unusual it must have seemed to those around her for Kuchiki Rukia to be _whistling_. Indeed, had she turned her mind towards the concept at _all_, she likely would have ceased the unconscious habit and muttered somethng to herself about appearances and making a fool of herself. But then, that was the entire point. That she wasn't thinking, wasn't considering the ramifications of walking down the sidewalk whistling a little tune, as if she hadn't a care in the world. She did, as did everyone who lived -- though calling what she did 'living' was really rather ironic when you considered the fact that she was, in fact, dead -- but those cares seemed far away now, forgotten on some back-burner of her mind as the petite girl pranced along the walkway with an extra spring in her step.

Rukia herself hadn't noticed, hadn't taken the time to register the extra little twinkle in her eye, the way the lilting tune of her half-hum, half-whistle tended to move in time to her light steps, or the way every motion seemed to have a little flourish to it, as though she danced to music only she could hear. Had anyone stopped to point out the fact that not only did she have a rather dopey grin on her face, but that she was nearly skipping as she wandered from store to store, she would have flatly told them they were out of their mind.The whistling was simply due to the music that wafted out of several of the stores, and only then because if she tried to ignore it, it would invariably wind up stuck in her head.

Pausing at the next storefront to study her reflection, Rukia frowned, leaning in and fingering her hair for a moment before studying the outfit she had picked out this afternoon. It was Friday, and seeing as it was the weekend already, she'd taken the opportunity to head downtown after classes let out, in search of something new to wear. She hadn't had anything new in awhile, and even though her brother was completely unconcerned as to the money she spent during her time in the living world -- as far as she knew, he had enough money that he hardly cared what she spent -- it was still in her nature to be frugal. That habit, easily developed in Rukongai, where everything was scarce, had easily transformed itself into a sense of duty to the clan that took her in, an unwillingness to take advantage of their generosity in any way, including monetarily.

But all that aside, she'd still wanted something new, and to her great delight, the first shop she had stepped into had provided. And it had even been in her size too, circumventing the oft-frustrating problem she dealt with during shopping. The mint-green chiffon dress was a little frillier than she was used to, but she'd liked the cool crispness of the colour, and the way the fabric felt so soft against her skin. And even the cutout back -- which Kuchiki Byakuya would have undoubtably considered scandalous -- hadn't phased her so much when she'd tried the dress on and been delighted at the way the ruffled sleeves fluttered with her every gesture. Rukia wasn't really what anyone could have called "girly". Even though she wore dresses most of the time, things that tended towards bows, ribbons, or frills generally didn't suit her. She wasn't like Inoue or Hinamori-fukutaichou, all sweet-faced and gentle, suited towards those softer things. But in spite of that, she _liked_ the dress, and that had been enough to cement her decision.

Another store, about a block and a half down the road, had provided adorable white slingback sandals with a low heel to go with the dress, but it was when she'd found the pretty silver clip that now rested at the nape of her neck, it's teeth containing ebony strands of hair, that she'd decided to give her new outfit a test run. Slipping into the shop's fitting room, she'd stripped off her school uniform and into the dress, allowing herself a momentary girlish sense of glee at the swish of the skirt around her legs as she'd headed back out of the store.

_She'd_ thought it looked nice, and that was really all that mattered, but still.... it never hurt to take a second look. Twirling around in front of the glass, she grinned at her reflection, letting her mind wander back over the day. It had been a good day, and not just for the simple fact that today had boasted a notable lack of Hollows or Arrancar or any of those other things that tended to interrupt the normal flow of things. She'd gotten the Chappy trinket in the box of crackers from her lunch, and not only had it been the final -- and most favourite -- one for her collection of the things, but she'd gotten to see the satisfying way Ichigo's eyes had bugged out of his head and he'd nearly choked on the mouthful of food he was chewing when she'd let out a girlish squeal of glee at her prize. He'd sputtered for a few moments before fixing her with his usual glare and snarling at her to cut that out before she unintentionally scared someone to death. It was typical Ichigo, but for some reason she'd eschewed her normal response and instead simply stuck her tongue out at him and told him she didn't care.

Which had obviously unsettled him even further, as he'd looked at her as though she'd grown another head, mumbled something she couldn't make out, and returned his attention to his lunch. Rukia herself had simply shrugged and gone back to studying the tiny figurine on it's little base. Only... her thoughts hadn't stayed on Chappy's darling little ears or meticulously painted face. Instead, they'd turned inward, back to the evening before.

Back to Ichigo. She'd felt her cheeks heat up slightly, and inwardly cut off the thoughts, sealing them back in the box where they belonged. Only.... they didn't really _have_ to stay in the box, at least not the way they had before. It wasn't as though she had to pretend any longer, had to keep it to herself and deny what she'd known to be true for so long. He knew, as _she_ knew, and now.... well, now things were different. And despite the fact that 'different' scared the hell out of her and made her at times almost afraid to even look at him, there wasn't any sort of denying that since their kiss on the rooftop, she'd just been... _happy_.

It was odd, in a way, to feel somehow untroubled. As though most of the things she worried about, those things that normally sat at the forefront of her mind had simply lifted up and flown away like butterflies in the summer air. As if some kind of invisible weight on her shoulders had been lifted, and now that it had -- even though nothing had really _changed_ all that much, she didn't think -- it was just _easier_ to smile.

Giving in to the strange -- she found it downright disturbing, in a way -- urge to skip slightly as she walked, Rukia teetered on one foot for a moment, shifting her weight and almost twirling as she fluffed the skirt of her dress momentarily before continuing on her way.

"The hell are you doing?"

She stopped short, glancing up at the familiar scowling face crowned by spikey orange hair. He was leaning against the streetlight, the setting sun glancing off his face as he narrowed his eyes at her in obvious distaste -- or confusion -- at her persistent lively mood. For just a moment, Rukia felt the heat rise up in her face, the nervous fluttering in her belly as she fought the momentary urge to pull the facade up again. Catching her lower lip in her teeth, she let violet eyes shift up towards him, catching the faint wash of colour on his face as his own amber-brown eyes shifted nervously away from her. And somehow, the fact that she could tell -- how she hadn't been able to before was a mystery she'd puzzle out another time -- that the still so recent changes to their relationship made him as nervous as they did her, made so much of her own aggitation melt away.

Grinning slightly, she raised her eyebrows and simply pranced right past him with a superior expression and a flip of night-black hair.

"Wouldn't you like to know~."


	3. Day 3 - Seeing Red

"Ichigo. Ichigo! _ICHIGO!_"

The incessant noise -- he realized a moment before her foot contacted his shin that it was Rukia trying to get his attention -- was suddenly punctuated by the sharp impact of hard plastic against the rather tender front of his shin. Hissing, he jerked the abused limb back away from her, resisting the urge to shift his weight to the other foot. Damned if he was about to let her know how much that had hurt. Glaring, he leveled his amber-brown gaze at the petite, dark-haired shinigami standing there with her hands fisted on her hips. Damned midget, the hell did she do that for? Well, honestly he knew why, it was because she'd been trying to get his attention and he hadn't been giving it.

Growling under his breath, he shoved his hands in his pockets and resisted the overwhelming desire to snarl at her as he finally gave her the attention she wanted.

"_What?_"

Rolling her eyes at his attitude, Rukia cocked her head to the side, mouth set in a stubborn line. What was his damned problem anyway, it wasn't like they didn't go out shopping or something. Hell, they'd been out like this enough times before and he'd been fine with it. Ok, so maybe 'fine' was putting it a bit too nicely, but he at least generally seemed to _tolerate_ it when she wanted to go somewhere and -- by virtue of the fact that he was the one with the money -- that meant he needed to go to.

"The hell is wrong with you? You act like we're being stalked or something."

It was true, and he could deny it all he wanted to but she wasn't about to buy into it. Ever since they'd left the house, he'd been on edge. At first, she'd just taken it to be his usual weirdness, half-expecting a hollow or something else to show up in one of those frustrating situations where they couldn't easily just take off and go about their usual business of hunting, but now she wasn't so convinced. He kept looking around, checking around doors and corners and the like, almost as though he thought they were being followed.

As far as Rukia was concerned, it was stupid. No one was following him, though given the way his father was she honestly couldn't blame him. It had only been three days or so since the two of them had come to their shared realization of feelings and the shinigami wasn't about to admit that she had similar feelings to her companion in regards to the idea of Kurosaki Isshin finding out about their newfound feelings.

Shuddering slightly in reflex at the thought of Isshin's likely overenthusiastic response, she scowled back at Ichigo -- seeing as he still hadn't answered her question and had instead gone back to his recently-acquired practice of being paranoid -- and adjusted the collar of her red corduroy coat. If he didn't answer her soon, she was going to kick him again.

"I am not."

It was a typical answer for him, the sort he always gave that really meant "I don't want to say why I'm doing this", and even though he could tell it didn't satisfy her, at least she hadn't hit him again. Eyes shifting from side to side, he made another quick pass of the area before letting out a pent-up breath with an audible sigh, his shoulders visibly relaxing. Good. At least now he was sure there wasn't anyone around who would recognize them.

There was no way that he would have said anything to _her_ \-- hell, he wanted to actually _live_ to make it to 17 -- but as far as he was concerned, there was equally little chance that, if he had anything to do with it, any of their friends -- and most _especially_ their classmates -- would happen to come across Kurosaki Ichigo and Kuchiki Rukia on a...... _date_.

Just the thought of it was almost enough to make him shudder. Not the idea of being close to Rukia like that, though _that_ idea was still new enough in his mind that he wasn't sure how comfortable he was with the whole notion of 'together' yet. No, it wasn't the idea of being together with her, it was more the idea of being together with her and _anyone else knowing_ that he had an issue with. Just like how he still dodged any questions from schoolmates about the supposed 'relationship' between him and Rukia -- the relationship that he wasn't about to admit was NOW actuality instead of just gossip-driven assumptions.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she squared up her shoulders and set her lips in a hard line with that look that clearly indicated she was seriously considering hitting him. Sighing again, he returned the scowl and proceeded to look the other way. Fine, if she wanted to sulk he could do it too. Only... he didn't really _want_ to be sulking. In fact, despite what he would have admitted -- _especially_ to her -- he was enjoying their time together, enjoying the chance to spend some actual _normal_ time with the shinigami who he was only just accepting meant far more to him then just a friend.

Glancing down at her small hand peeking out from the cuff of her bright red coat -- red was a good colour on her, it set off her hair and eyes really well, even though he wasn't really sure what made him think of that -- he studied her fingertips for a moment, swallowing past the sudden dryness in his throat as he hesitantly reached over to twine his larger fingers through hers, his face tactfully averted to hopefully conceal the burning on his cheeks.

She felt his fingertips wrap around hers with an almost shy, hesitant manner as they walked, violet eyes widening above the sudden blush on her face as she reflexively tightened her grip on his hand. It was... strange, in a way, to be like this. It felt right, but at the same time almost surreal, as though she were walking through some sort of dream-world where they were both just normal highschool students, where there were no Hollows, no Soul Society, no Aizen. None of those things that complicated every step of life they both took.

Smiling slightly, she let her steps carry her a little bit closer, until she could almost rest her head on his shoulder -- or his arm at least, he was so much taller than her -- closing her eyes slightly and just enjoying the moment. It was... nice. Or at least, it was nice until she registered a voice calling, a voice that sounded very familiar and then all of a sudden her hand was dropped from his warm grip like it was something rotten and the space between them had widened to roughly three feet. Slightly bewildered, she glanced around in time to see him nod to Keigo and Mizuiro as the other boys approached, Keigo slinging an arm around Ichigo's neck with a suggestive grin on his face, one elbow digging into the orange-haired teen's ribs as he muttered something snide that she couldn't hear.

What she _could_ hear was Ichigo's half-choked sputter of denial as he shook his head, proclaiming that of course not, he hadn't been holding her hand and they "sure as hell" weren't on a date. Clenching her fist by her side, she could feel the vein start to pulse in her forehead. Oh he did _not_....

In the aftermath, Ichigo would come to the conclusion that a serious hit to his reputation hurt a good deal less than several well-placed hits from Kuchiki Rukia's much smaller person.


	4. Day 4 - Emerald Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has come to my realization that the seasons don't actually line up in this collection and I chalk that up to the fact that I live in North Carolina and have no understanding of real seasons. Anyone who has spent time here understands the joke that you can visit for a week at the right time of year and experience all 4 seasons. Literally. Last 'winter' it snowed on a Tuesday and was 70 by Friday.

White ground against white, enamel scraping against enamel as another soft peal of fake laughter cut through his senses. Ichigo felt his shoulders tense as long fingers clenched around the pencil in his hand, the yellow-painted wood creaking softly as the tension pushed it to it's limits. Another moment or so and he was relatively certain that the device would break in his hand. Not that he was paying much attention -- or cared, for that matter -- right now.

No, what he was _supposed_ to be doing right now was studying his physics work, that was the _purpose_ of study hall, after all. To _study_, and despite what so many people who didn't know him tended to assume because of his hair, Kurosaki Ichigo was one who actually _studied_ in study hall. Or at least... that's what he'd always done in the past. Sit here, amidst the complaints from the others who didn't want to bother with something so mundane as study hall, and actually DO the work that they preferred to shirk. Hell, it wasn't like it was going to be _his_ fault when they were bitching about it later and he had time to do whatever the hell he felt like.

Only... he couldn't _do_ that right now.

And it was all the fault of the irritating little midget shinigami sitting there on the other side of the room, perched in the windowsill like she owned the damned place, legs crossed and acting like the center of the world. Irritating brat. Could hse just go ahead and _shut up already_, it wasn't like Keigo needed any more encouragement. And the hell did she have to sit like that, legs crossed just so, fluttering her hand all flirty-like and giggling like some idiot schoolgirl for?

For her part, Rukia was doing her best to ignore the stormcloud that was Ichigo, huddled in his corner on the other side of the room and seething angry energy like a stove hemmoraging heat. She didn't know what the hell his problem was, but frankly she didn't care. As far as Rukia was concerned, her.... whatever he was, was still somewhat on the 'bad' list for the shit he pulled yesterday at the mall. Pushing her irritation at him to the back of her mind, she turned her attention back to the conversation with a laugh.

The feel of the vein starting to throb in his head at yet another giggle from Rukia, and the answering crap from half the other males in the class was enough to make Ichigo nearly rip the page in his book as he made yet another attempt to feign disinterest in the way his gir- NO, he wasn't going to call her that -- in _Rukia's_ current bahaviour. It was ridiculous, that's what it was. Ridiculous to begin with that she had to act all fake and stupid and just plain.... _girly_, when that wasn't her at all, and it was even MORE ridiculous that she seemed to get some sort of perverse thrill out of doing it when he was around, especially when she KNEW how much it got on his damned nerves. Scribbling down the answer to number 5 -- 16 khtz, the fuck was he supposed to care about khz or kilos or any of this shit right now? -- he felt yet another scrape on that last raw nerve as another familiar voice entered the cacaphony from the other side of the room.

Leveling a scowl at the back of an all too familiar blonde head, he imagined the finely honed point of Zangetsu cleaving said skull into a few select pieces. Damned Hirako, _he_ was even more unforgivable, because he didn't even have the slight buffer of safety that most everyone else in the room did simply by virtue of the fact that they didn't _know_ about 80% of the crap that was going on around them and therefore it made little sense -- not to mention little fairness -- for him to wish the business end of his zanpakutou into their guts for daring to flirt with _his_ Rukia. He couldn't really hate them. Well, at least not _fairly_.

_Hirako_, on the other hand...he could hate.

Which he did, profusely at the moment, as the Vaizard slung an arm around the petite shinigami's shoulders for a moment before those olive green eyes slanted sideways and caught Ichigo's with a look that told the substitute shinigami plainly that the other man knew _exactly_ what he was doing, and that he was essentially just daring Ichigo on.

The pencil broke with a resounding crack as the low growl rose up in his throat, muffled slightly by the harsh scrape of metal chair legs against the tile floor and the slamming of a book. Rounding on the suddenly silent crowd -- most of them were looking at him with expressions ranging from fear to disbelief, to skepticism -- he stalked over to them, one hand shooting out and wrapping long fingers around the blonde's tie with a snarl. Hirako, for his part, didn't seem at all phased to suddenly be on the business end of an angry Kurosaki Ichigo's arm, and instead just raised one eyebrow in a measured expression, almost as though questioning whether Ichigo actually intended to _do_ anything besides be menacing.

It _would_ figure that the prat would react like that, and it only made it that much more tempting to bury Hirako's face in the wall. Not that Ichigo had any illusions that it would be that easy, at least not unless the Vaizard kept up his usual premise -- because the substitute shinigami knew perfectly well what the other man was capable of. He'd seen it firsthand, after all -- but it was still satisfying to shove the lanky blonde up against the wall with an angry growl as he ignored the horrified and surprised gasps and exclamations all around.

"Get your hands off her, Hirako."

Wide mouth widened further into a grin as the eyebrows went up and Shinji chuckled, one hand easily disengaging the shinigami's fist from the front of his shirt and tossing it aside with a flippant shake of his hand.

"And since when does it matter to you, Kurosaki?"

Ichigo felt his fists clench, and his teeth grind together again as he began to once again contemplate the pros and cons that came with pounding Hirako a few inches into the pavement, though that was interrupted by the sharp pain in his shin -- thankfully she'd gotten off the desk, or it would have been a couple feet higher up -- as Rukia landed the sole of her shoe directly in the center of his tibia. Snarling out a curse, he rounded on the midget shinigami with a glare as she demanded to know who the hell he thought he was to decide who she talked to and who she didn't talk to, cutting her off with his own angry words.

"And what the hell are you flirting with him for?"

Sucking in an angry breath as two red spots appeared in the center of her cheeks, the shinigami pressed lips together with a flash of dark violet eyes before slugging him in the mouth with one small fist and stepping back to cross arms over her chest. She hadn't BEEN flirting with anyone, and who the hell did he think he was, acting all jealous when just yesterday he'd made a point of pretending like he didn't even _know_ her every time anyone they knew walked by while they were shopping?

"Last I checked, you don't _own_ me, and I wasn't flirting with ANYONE, you oaf! And even if I _was_, that's none of your damned business, so exactly what do you plan to DO about it?"

Ichigo drew his shoulders up with a deep breath, teeth gritting and whole body tensing. Damn her and her ability to push his buttons like that. And damn her for always winning all the damned arguments. And... and damn Hirako for being Hirako, and damn women in general, and damn.... well, just damn it. Before she had a chance to spout any more sanctimonious bullshit, he'd crossed the distance between them and grabbed her by the upper arm.

"This."

Yanking her over to him, he brought his mouth down on hers to effectively shut her up, blocking out all the sudden gasps of shock and squeals of girlish glee -- more blackmail material, wasn't that what girls did? -- and concentrating on the fact that he'd managed to _shut her up_ for once. Pulling back, he glowered down at her for a moment.

"So quit the flirting crap!"

Letting go of her arm, he left her there still somewhat dumbfounded by what had just happened as the rest of the class stared. Stalking over to his desk, he shoved books into his bag and slung bag onto his shoulder before storming out the door.


	5. Day 5 - Distance to the Sun

Wandering the halls in the aftermath of classes, Ichigo shifted his shoulders slightly to readjust the weight of the plain brown satchel on his back. The extra weight wasn't all that heavy, and despite the added inconvenience of a second strap across his chest it really wasn't much different from carrying his _own_ schoolbooks every day. And it was unquestionably and _infinitely_ better than carrying along Rukia's pale purple Chappy-festooned bag.

The shinigami was conspicuously absent from her normal position at his side, having been called back to Soul Society for the day. He honestly didn't mind it all that much -- at least, not much beyond the usual grating sort of irritation he felt on such days -- but given their new.... _relationship_, her absence at this point was only serving as fuel for the fires that were already burning.

If he'd had his way about things, those same fires -- that had _already_ fueled ridiculous rumors before there'd _been_ anything there to rumor about -- would have been lit directly beneath a handful of desks in his class. And it was precisely those rumors, and the resultant chaos they'd spawned, which had been the root of his steadfast and stubborn refusal to carry Rukia's bag this morning.

She'd insisted, making a point of reminding him that if he didn't get the notes from class for her that he'd have to spend that much more time reviewing it with her to make sure that she understood and followed each individual concept. Heartless witch. He'd growled back, pointing out -- rather sullenly, which only earned him a bruised shin in the process -- that if she just _stayed_ here instead of running back to Soul Society, then she could just get the damned notes herself because it wasn't as though they had any business acting like they couldn't function if she didn't show up every week or two. Of course, that had worked about as well as trying to drink lead. Which was to say that he'd had to listen to her harp on about how she _had_ to go back, that it was only to make a report, and how he was acting like a spoiled sulking child.

He'd snarled at her then, and grudgingly agreed to gather the requisite notes, angrily muttering that the _only_ reason he was agreeing to do so was so then she couldn't blame _him_ when she didn't study and then failed. Which had, once again, earned him the solid impact of her shoe against his shin. He'd scowled down at her then, only to blink in a mixture of astonishment and dread when she'd reached into the drawer of his desk that she'd designated 'hers' and pulled out a ruffle-edged, purple-hued monstrosity decorated with simpering pink rabbits.

Touching that affrontery to taste was something he adamantly refused, raising arms up in protest as not only his sense of taste, but his manhood itself rebelled against the proximity of the Chappy-printed backpack. Rukia's response to his -- in his opinion -- perfectly reasonable response was to fix him with 'the look' and sternly declare that she wasn't about to tolerate him shoving _her_ belongings into that unorganized mess he called a schoolbag and that because she had misplaced her own, that would have to suffice.

Regardless of what he might have agreed to, he was not about to join the ranks of whipped idiots who stumbled along behind a certain female, toting her crap and making picnic lunches and other such bullshit. Which was exactly the assumption that would be made should anyone see him near that bag without HER arm through the strap. Yet another point he spelled out plainly for her, something she apparently didn't pay any attention to as she shoved it at him again and told him to 'stop being a baby' about it because she couldn't find her _normal_ bag and this was the temporary replacement.

Ichigo personally thought that the matter of her misplaced bag may have had something to do with the fact that she'd thrown it at him last night after they returned from school, likely in retaliation for his earlier behaviour, but he wasn't going to bring _that_ up again. Either way, he was NOT going to carry that bag around, a fact that his raven-haired companion seemed not to comprehend seeing as she'd simply kicked him again, threatened his life if he failed to bring her notes home, and hopped out the window with a passing wave.

_And not even a goodbye kiss..._

Growling, he crushed down that portion of his brain and reminded himself that as of now, no one could see the atrocious satchel hidden deep inside the bowels of his spare brown messenger bag. That portion of his brain had already gotten him in enough trouble as it was, and right now was _not_ the time to be contemplating the fact that the more often he did it, the more he found he _really liked_ kissing Rukia.

Sighing, he raked a hand through spikey orange hair as he turned to shoot a glare at a couple of girls who passed by as they caught sight of him and whispered amongst themselves. Gritting his teeth at the hushed giggles, he once again reminded himself that -- as much as he might have wanted to -- he really _couldn't_ blame Rukia for what had happened yesterday.

Instead, he could simply do the next-best thing and blame Hirako.

Lost in thought and frustration, he rounded the corner of the hallway only to run right into someone else. Stumbling backwards with a scowl, he opened his mouth to berate whoever it was for not watching where they were going only to have the angry retort trail off as he stared down at the startled face of Inoue Orihime. Stepping back, he shifted his feet slightly, brown eyes skirting away from the girl as she blinked for a moment before looking equally uncomfortable.

_That_ was what he'd been trying to avoid, what he'd been frustratedly turning over in his head all day amidst the normal numbers and equations and facts that comprised a day at school. Their friends, both those who knew the 'truth' of things and those who didn't, had reacted in various ways to his sudden and unexpected kissing of the petite shinigami yesterday, and while most of those reactions had been favourable -- or downright annoying -- it was still proving frustrating to deal with.

Inoue was... different. The copper-haired girl had been there yesterday, he'd known she was there and honestly at the time he hadn't really even considered the effect his actions might have. While he was loath to admit it, at this point it was hard to deny the fact that he didn't often _think_ when he perhaps should. In fact, he'd been so caught up in his own anger and jealousy over the situation that the ramifications of his action hadn't struck him until he'd been halfway down the hall.

To that end, he'd spent the next half hour that qualified as the remainder of the study hall class on the roof of the stairwell, where even those of his friends who knew his penchant for rooftop excursions wouldn't think to look. Ultimately, he'd slunk back downstairs at the bell's tone to make his way back to class, all the while glaring daggers at anyone who looked as though they wanted to say something.

The seat by the window had been empty when he'd returned, a fact that -- like so many others -- he'd pushed from his mind in his hurry to stay focused on anything BUT the way he'd kissed Rukia in front of everyone. And while he'd taken a moment to ponder over Inoue's absence and what could have triggered it, there was little he could do to assauge the thick lump of guilt in his stomach as the mocking voice of his subconscious slyly pointed out that it was _his_ fault.

Glancing back down at the top of the girl's head, he reached up to awkwardly scratch fingers through orange hair. He should say something to her, that much was clear and not simply by virtue of the fact that he'd just bumped right into her. There was a distance there, a gulf of space carefully cultured over the months, a distance that -- by all rights, when he thought about it -- wasn't really fair.

Despite what he knew perfectly well many people tended to assume about him, Kurosaki Ichigo wasn't stupid. Nor was he nearly as dense or oblivious to things around him as he oft pretended to be. He noticed, and not only those things that were blatant or starkly focused around him. He saw the way the girl watched him when she thought he wasn't looking. The way her cheeks pinked slightly when she caught his gaze, or the somewhat hesitant way she spoke to him. It was in the almost nervous, whistful smiles she directed at him, the way her fingers always seemed to find the hem of her shirt or something else to play with whenever he talked to her.

Her feelings were, to a degree, as obvious to him as the distance itself. He noticed them, and promptly turned away and put the blinders back up, taking such a conscious effort to _not_ notice, to _not_ respond or give any sort of indication that he either knew or understood the meanings behind her looks. It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair and it galled him to admit that fact to himself, to admit that the safe gulf of space he'd fostered wasn't for her benefit at all.

It was for his.

Feelings, emotions, those were her domain. They weren't things he understood -- at least, not the way people said he should -- and they weren't things he was comfortable with. That made it easy to argue it off, to feign ignorance whenever anyone else brought it up or commented on it. Kurosaki Ichigo didn't 'get' things like love. Except... he knew that wasn't true, as much as a portion of himself wished it was. That would have made things so much simpler.

He loved Kuchiki Rukia. It didn't matter that he didn't necessarily even _like_ the fact that he did, or that the inner revelation -- he hadn't even _said_ it to her yet -- frankly scared him a hell of a lot more than the thought of what her stick-up-his-ass brother would do if he found out. It just... _was_.

Inoue Orihime loved him. Or at least, he was relatively certain that she did. And that scared him nearly as much. He'd always _liked_ the girl, even when she'd just been a face with a name, that long-haired girl who was always with Tatsuki. But... he didn't like her _that_ way. And so he'd built up the wall, built up the barriers when he'd realized her regard for him, not to protect her from a broken heart but rather... to protect himself from _having_ to break her heart.

It was just easier that way, easier to pretend and remain safely and assumedly oblivious rather than to face the difficulty and the reality of admitting to her that his heart lay elsewhere. Which also would have led to the exquisitely awkward task of explaining just _where_ that 'elsewhere' was.

But things weren't so simple now, weren't so black and white. The girl standing in front of him, beginning to look confused at his continued silence wasn't simply a face in the crowd. She was his friend. His companion, his nakama. She _deserved_ to know the truth, to have the walls taken down and the distance removed. Hell, she'd risked her life along with the rest of them, risked her life to help _him_ save someone who had taken the place _she'd_ wanted in his heart. He owed her his honesty.

Taking a deep breath, he fixed her with what he hoped was a rather neutral -- even apologetic -- expression, shoving hands deep into his pockets.

"Inoue.... about yesterday..."

She blinked at him for a moment, as though confused, before her face spread into a wide grin and she laughed. Cocking her auburn head to the side, she raised one hand, balling it into a fist before lightly punching it against the crown of her head cheerfully.

"Ohhh! Yesterday. Well see, I was in class and then I just suddenly got thirsty so I left to go to the machine and get a can of juice. But then, I was walking and out the window I saw this bird and I was watching it and then it stole a little kid's icecream cone which made me really want some icecream and then before I knew what had happened I'd walked all the way out of school and down the street and then the bell was ringing and I knew I wouldn't get back in time unless I tried to climb the wall and then I'd probably fall down and hurt myself so I just went to the park instead. Sorryyy, I didn't mean to make everyone worry."

She punctuated the long, rambling explanation -- the _lie_, he knew it wasn't true, could tell it by the redness rimming the edges of her grey eyes -- with playful punches to her head, as though berating herself for some sort of imagined stupidity. Taking a step back, she laughed, though with the tension in her voice, he could tell it was forced. Resisting the urge to scowl -- that _wouldn't_ help things right now -- he shook his head.

"Inoue... that's not what I-"

"Don't."

She cut him off with a single word, soft in it's pitch yet still conveying a certain sharpness. Blinking, he glanced back down at her, not sure if he'd heard her right. Opening his mouth, he made ready to ask her, to clarify what he'd heard, only to be cut off yet again as she began to speak.

"Please.... don't, Kurosaki-kun. I......"

She stood there for a moment, staring down at the floor with her long hair shielding her face from view. Her shoulders were trembling slightly as she curled her hands into fists at her sides. He couldn't tell if she was crying, but he had a strong suspicion that she was and that only served to make him feel worse. After a moment, she raised her head again, her mouth curved into a wide smile that, like her laughter, was forced. Clasping her hands behind her back, she gave another friendly laugh, this one shaking slightly with suppressed emotions.

"I'm happy for you, and for Kuchiki-san. But it was so mean to surprise all of us like that, and I'm sure it made Kuchiki-san mad as well. And you didn't think at all about poor Asano-san, and Tatsuki-chan was really surprised too. Don't keep any more secrets like that, ok? I mean, if you're really a zombie robot cyborg or something like that it would be so completely scary and weird, but not so much if we already knew. And you should be nicer to Kuchiki-san now, you know!"

Ichigo stood there, half in shock as she laughed and playfully scolded him before readjusting the bag on her back with a nod. It didn't... make sense. He was trying to undo what he'd done, to tear down the walls and barriers and make an overture. To come clean and be honest the way he should have been all along. Still speechless, he watched in dumbfounded shock as she turned and hurried off down the hallway. The distance was still there, as it had been for longer than he liked to admit. Only now.... it was because _she_ had put it there.


	6. Day 6 - Those Faraway Stars

"_No_, you idiot I didn't say I was coming back _tonight_, I said I would come back _when I got finished here_. NO, I'm not finished yet, that's why I'm _still here_. Oh for the- You are acting like such a baby! What?! Don't you call me that, you moron! I am NOT, and if you say it again I'll kick your ass when I get back. _Tomorrow_, as long as Ukitake-taichou doesn't need me for anything else. Now shut up, I have to go."

Renji winced slightly as the small silver phone snapped shut with a violent click, it's pendant Chappy charm jingling as Rukia's fist clenched around it. If she squeezed that phone much harder, she'd break the damned thing and then he'd have to listen to her complain about _that_. Watching as she gave the device a dirty look -- doubtless the look was intended more for the person on the other end of the line than for the phone itself -- before shoving it into the inner pocket of her hakama with a huffy sigh, he allowed himself a scowl of his own.

Damn Ichigo. It was _his_ fault, anyway. Renji didn't know what it would take to get the message through -- likely a few good blows to the head, which he was more than willing to administer himself -- to the orange-haired substitute that Rukia didn't _belong_ in the human world, and that because of that simple fact, he couldn't keep expecting her to stay there and not come back _here_. To Soul Society. To where she _did_ belong. The kid was stubborn, Renji had to give him that, but he had to come to grips with reality at some point. The argument he'd had with Rukia over the phone a moment ago had been proof enough of the fact that Ichigo just didn't get it.  
He sobered up as Rukia walked back over to him, pulling his face into a neutral expression and shoving hands into the pockets of his hakama. Raising an eyebrow slightly, he simply listened to her complaints in his typical fashion of seeming indifference. Watching the emotions play across her face, he couldn't help the rising sense of concern. Something was different since the last time he'd seen her, something had changed and not between _them_. Something.... between her and Ichigo. It was written on her face, in the subtle variances of her expressions as she'd shouted at him through the phone, in the way she rolled her eyes as she complained, in... in everything. And for some reason, it only served to heighten the sudden sense of sinking doom he felt.

"Of all the idiotic, half-witted, pea-brained.... I can't _believe_ he had the nerve to- And then, he _still_-"

Breaking off with a martyred sigh of frustration, Rukia gritted her teeth in an attempt to push her aggravation from her mind and focus on more pleasant things. It was bad enough that that colossal idiot had made such a fuss when all she'd been _trying_ to do was be courteous and let him know when she'd be back. At least that way she didn't have to worry about him moping and sulking and just... well, doing whatever she had it on good authority he did whenever she returned here for a time. Really, he was such a baby about things at times, it was just pathetic honestly. Not to mention, if she didn't _ask_, then she'd never be able to make sure that he'd gotten her notes for her like he'd said he would. And what had she gotten in return? He'd thrown a fit. All over his own idiotic assumption that she would be back tonight when he knew damned well she hadn't said that.

Growling uncomplimentary things about men under her breath, she heaved another sigh and smoothed her features before turning back to Renji, ignoring the incessant buzz of the cell phone against her rib-cage. Dumbass could call all he wanted, she wasn't picking it up. Running a hand through black hair, she cocked her head up at the taller shinigami.

"Sorry about that, Renji."

The crimson-haired man shrugged, as though bored with the entire thing. Or maybe irritated. Renji tended to be irritated, seemingly over the smallest things. Maybe it was just like Ichigo, some sort of free-floating aggravation that never seemed to dissipate but rather always hung around and influenced his mood. Either way, she was still rather certain that -- had he been asked about it -- he would have rather NOT had to listen to her yell at Ichigo.

"The hell'd he do this time?"

Honestly, he didn't really want to know. He didn't _want_ to know about what went on during the -- in his opinion -- inordinate amount of time Rukia spent in the human world, and he _really_ didn't want to know how much of that time was spent with Kurosaki Ichigo. But in spite of that, he couldn't completely dampen down the morbid curiosity, the niggling suspicion that made him ask, that made him pry and poke and try to find out, as though by finding out he could somehow do something about it.  
She blinked at him for a moment before scowling and crossing her arms over her chest in frustration.

"I swear, that idiot wouldn't know what to do with himself for more than an hour. How dare he throw some kind of _tantrum_ like that?!"

As she devolved into another tirade, he could see it again. The difference. The shift of things, how even as she was figuratively -- and literally, to be perfectly frank -- cursing the other man's name, there was a certain softness to her tone, a lessening of some inner frustration. As though the frustration itself... wasn't nearly as frustrating as it might normally have been. Swallowing hard against the gnawing pit in his stomach, Renji tried to deny what the signs were telling him.

He'd waited too long, too long spent watching and waiting and biding his time, hoping that he'd surpass Kuchiki-taichou and prove himself worthy. That he'd be able to show her his strength, his _worth_, prove to her -- or perhaps even, to himself -- that he could and _would_ give her everything she could ever want, everything that the Kuchiki clan could give her and even more. Standing always in the shadows, watching from afar as his angel walked on without him. And now... now someone else had stolen her away.

Ichigo was his friend, his comrade even though it was a fact he hated admitting. He and the orange-haired teen had fought side by side, they'd watched each other's backs since that sunset day in Seireitei when he'd realized that on his own, he couldn't save Rukia. The petite woman had brought them together with her plight, and though -- to himself, or grudgingly to others -- he wouldn't hesitate to name Kurosaki Ichigo as a friend, an ally.... at this moment he could only see the other man as a demon. A hateful, black-clad devil laughing mockingly at Renji from behind that porcelain mask as he stole away the dearest thing in Renji's world.

It wasn't even as though he could claim ignorance of the regard the human boy held for Rukia. Hell, just because Ichigo was dense as a brick -- and Rukia equally as oblivious, when it came down to this fact -- that didn't mean _he_ had any difficulty deciphering what lay beneath the surface. But he'd always thought it harmless. Only a childish infatuation, a conflagration that would ignite and burn itself out, and then the teen would move on to other things. He'd never thought that the girl he'd grown up beside, the woman he himself would gladly die to protect... would add her own fuel to those flames.

Watching with growing dread and an ever-increasing sense of desperation as she scowled and rummaged in her shihakushou for the phone, flipping it open to frown at the screen, he felt yet another lump of ice form in the pit of his gut as he realized with a start that the plastic figure of Chappy now hung beside a small crimson strawberry.

_No... you can't......not him...._

Before he half-realized what he was doing, Renji turned towards Rukia, large hands gripping her shoulders as he shoved her back against the wall of the hallway and brought his mouth down on hers with a hard, urgent manner. She froze, violet eyes wide in her face for a moment as though she couldn't conceive of what was happening, of what he was doing. Closing his eyes, he tried to relax, to deepen the kiss and _show_ her that she didn't need to be there, with Ichigo. She needed to be _here_. With _him._  
Several long seconds ticked by before Rukia's brain caught up to the rest of her and she pulled back, shaking her head as her hands came up to push against Renji's shoulders. No... this wasn't right, wasn't what she wanted. She could feel the desperation, the pleading way he clung to her for a moment before reluctantly pulling back to rest his head against the wall behind her. It made her feel almost... guilty, in a way. Guilty that she'd walked away from him so long ago, guilty that she'd somehow managed to miss what must have been so obvious to everyone else for so long.

Renji was a constant in her world, he'd _always_ been a constant. An anchor, a grounding force in the figurative roller-coaster that her life had become at times. His crimson-haired figure had stood beside her slighter, dark-haired one since the days of their mutual youth. He'd watched over her -- as she'd done for him -- at nights and during days, curled up beside her on nights too cold to do otherwise, stole with her to fill their empty stomachs. They'd made the decision together to become shinigami, a decision that had ultimately pulled them apart. Long before the Kuchiki clan had come to her and adopted her, she'd watched as Renji rose beyond her capabilities, as he ran quicker and further down that path than she could follow. Her adoption had only cemented the break between them.

It had been hard, so very hard to know that their paths had diverged. She'd come to him once, that last time, before she accepted Kuchiki Byakuya's proposition, hoping he would hold on. That he would tell her what was in his heart, ask her to stay with him, for them to continue as they had always done. But instead, he had let go. Pulled back with false cheer and clapped her on the shoulder and pushed her forward towards a destiny that didn't involve him. It had hurt, his dismissal of her and his willingness to let go of what they'd shared, but she'd made her way past that now. She'd moved on, grown into her own and left the old Rukia behind.

Shaking her head, she recoiled from his embrace as gently as she could.

"Renji....."

"Stay. Please.... stay here. With _me_."

It was silly, perhaps, to think that he could get through to her, that she'd listen to his plea now. Now, when he was speaking the words he should have uttered all those years ago. Gritting his teeth, Renji couldn't deny the surge of guilt and self-loathing that rose up in his mind now. He didn't _deserve_ to have her listen to him now, not after he'd been such a coward and turned his back on what he _really_ wanted -- what they _both_ really wanted -- and walked away.

"Renji, I.... I can't..."

He could hear the waver in her voice, and he pressed forward, brown eyes staring into hers with an uncharacteristic intensity as he tightened his grip on her arms. She couldn't mean that, she couldn't _really_ love that... that _human_ boy.

"Why?! You can't _possibly_ think you can stay there forever! You're a shinigami, he's a human. Hell, he's not even a _normal_ human! Dammit Rukia, he's a fucking _Vaizard_! Don't you get it?! You're not like him. You don't _belong_ in his world. You-" His voice cracked slightly as he swallowed, looking away for a moment as his voice softened. "You belong here. With me. He.... he's just a kid. Just a kid with a mask, Rukia. He doesn't know what he wants out of life, what any of this shit means. He's not like us. He's got a life, a life that doesn't have a damned thing to do with Soul Society. You and me... we don't have that luxury. You.... you can't seriously.... _love_ him. Not... not the way I love you..."

Part of Rukia's mind rose up in defiance the same way a hard lump rose up in her throat at the barely-disguised pain in Renji's voice and somehow she couldn't bring herself to rebuke him, to snap at him that he -- like so many others -- owed a whole hell of a lot to that "kid", and that it was none of his damned business how she felt about anyone. She hung her head, biting her bottom lip as she struggled to find words, something to ease the pain he must be feeling and yet still make it clear that she _couldn't_ stay. That she couldn't be what he wanted her to be, couldn't give him what he desired. Reaching up, she rested one hand on his wrist lightly with a faint shake of her head.

"I..... I'm sorry, Renji."

He clenched his teeth at her whispered reply, the rejection still there in her voice as she stared at the ground. Feeling his own nails bite into his palm, he registered the strangely far-away feeling as he slowly pulled his arm back, dropping the fist by his side. His eyes were closed but he could feel the slight brush of air and the sudden absence of Rukia's form as she slipped away down the hallway silently, leaving him standing there. Balling up his fist even tighter, Renji slammed his knuckles against the wall with a resounding crack that -- in his opinion -- was a poor competitor for the cracking of his heart. Nothing would ever change. He was still just a stray dog, barking up at those stars. Only now... the stars were even farther away than before.


	7. Day 7 - Turquoise Sky

It was hardly what one might have called a "decision of a lifetime", hell it was hardly a difficult decision at all. Or at least... that was the response that someone who simply watched the scene in passing might have thought to themselves. A young man, much like any other, hands stuck in his pockets as he paced nervously around a store in the mall that could only be termed "girly". Even the expression on his face, that classical look of a boy just approaching manhood and faced with an inexorable dilemma.

What to buy for a girl.

And not _just_ a girl, but a girlfriend. For that was one of the only things that could bring a look of such trepidation onto the average attractive male. And in this case, said young man would have argued that his dilemma was of an infinitely more grave nature than that or any other boy his age dealing with the same issue. But then, most 16 year old boys weren't dating a shinigami a century or so older than they were who was known not only for her predilection with Chappy things, but for her tendancy to be less than forgiving when said boy did something she didn't like -- _she_ would have termed it "stupid".

Scowling even deeper -- if that were possible -- Ichigo shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket, brown eyes scanning the display as intently as they were scanning the nearby shops and corridors of the mall to make damned sure that anyone he knew who happened to be unlucky enough to _see_ him here would surely not live long enough to pass on the word that Kurosaki Ichigo had been -- voluntarily -- in a _mall_, shopping at a girly store. And Rukia or not, there was no way in hell he was going to own up to this one.

Stalking back for another round around the perimeter of the store, making certain to only glance casually at things -- couldn't have anyone thinking he was actually _paying attention_ to the irritating rabbit -- he mentally asked himself one more time _why_ in all the nine hells he'd convinced himself that this was something he needed to do. It was bad enough that because of the fight they'd had the other day -- her fault, he wasn't going to admit to anything -- now _everyone_ at school knew they were an item, now that just meant he had to... _act_ like it. Or at least... that was what he assumed he had to do.

The only issue with that was that the orange-headed teen honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd behaved as everyone expected OR wanted him to. Which was precisely the reason why that portion of his mind was at war with the portion that stated -- quite logically -- that seeing as how everyone already _knew_ she was his girlfriend, he ought to at least make some sort of effort to ACT more like it.

Ichigo didn't much like that portion of his mind, he decided.

And it wouldn't have made things so difficult _that_ portion hadn't been in control of his mind most of the day and hadn't decided -- in some inane fashion -- that he should behave like a "normal boyfriend" and actually buy a present for her. Not because it was her birthday -- it wasn't -- or because she'd asked him for one -- she probably had, he hadn't been listening -- but just... because she was Rukia.

He ignored any sorts of fuzzy thoughts about how it was because he cared, because he liked to see her smile, and all that other sappy shit. That kind of crap was dangerous to be thinking. Instead he turned his attentions back to the myriad of Chappy-themed articles that the store had to offer. Thankfully, Rukia wasn't honestly that hard to buy for. It wasn't like it was some deep dark secret that she was obsessed with the dumb rabbit, that she liked the snow, or that her favourite drink was strawberry-flavoured -- much to his chagrin -- milk tea. Hell, he could have dropped a quarter into that machine at the doorway and brought home some crappy plastic party favour and she'd have adored it as long as it was pink and had that stupid face on it.

But... for some reason, that wasn't enough. He didn't really know why, and he really didn't want to dwell on it too much as it just felt like it would be more headache than it was worth. Which brought him to his second dilemma.

Why the fuck was everything with that rabbit on it _pink_?

Kurosaki Ichigo, like most highschool boys, had the typical teenage male aversion to the colour. Which meant he had to suppress a shudder whenever he found himself surrounded by it and wanted to die in a hole somewhere every time his father decided to take leave of his heterosexuality and parade around in it. But it wasn't even his hatred for the insipid pastel that was bothering him.

No, that would have been safer. What _was_ bothering him was the fact that a newly-discovered -- and very philosophical -- portion of his mind was arguing that pink was not a good colour for Rukia. Which in itself was stupid, she had a few pieces of clothing in the colour and it actually suited her quite well. But it wasn't so much a matter of whether pink looked good on Rukia that he was caught up with. It was that... Rukia just wasn't "pink".

That made little to no sense to most of his brain and perfect sense to that traitorous part. With an aggravated sigh, he resisted the urge to shred the nearest Chappy doll and instead concentrated on trying to figure out exactly why it was that something pink just seemed so mis-matched with Rukia. Maybe... it was the fact that the colour was just so bubbly. So innocent and flirtatious. Almost coy and yet guileless. None of the things he associated with Rukia. Rukia... Rukia was more like blue. The most perfect shade of tranquil blue.

He didn't really know why he associated Rukia with blue. Maybe it was her eyes, that deep indigo-violet that drew him in until he felt like he was drowning in it, the same way he'd almost drowned once in a pool as a kid. Or maybe it was the way she reminded him of the sea. Rukia was so... well, she was just Rukia. At the same time unpredictable and solid as a rock. He could always count on her to be there when he needed her, to stabilize and guide him. Not that she was placid -- he'd nearly choked when someone suggested it once -- because she had as much of a temper as he did, and was just as stubborn. Like a storm, blowing the ocean waves into hurricanes at the blink of an eye and dragging him into the middle of it regardless of what he wanted.

But it was more than just her personality, the way that she acted that said "blue" to him. It was something about the way she made him _feel_, something that ran deeper than that burning, smoldering fire they both tended to shy away from -- nervously changing the subject when a simple kiss wasn't just that and things got too intense -- and something that drew him and held him with more surety then anything else. It was cool, refreshing. Reassuring the way a brilliant summer sky lit up after the storm clouds cleared, as if in promise that things were alright now. The way her presence made him feel, as though he could take on the world and know that no matter what happened she would still be there, standing beside him -- never behind, she wouldn't have stood for that -- as if she'd always belonged there.

A standing display of Chappy hats became the unintentional author of his demise as it found itself directly in his path as he wandered aimlessly lost in thought. With a startled curse, a muffled clatter, and a rather entertaining -- to those watching -- flailing of limbs, Ichigo found himself rather suddenly jolted out of his musings by the collision of his person with the hard and unforgiving tile of the floor. Stunned, he lay there in a heap for a moment before the assault to his person and the even more grievous assault to his image clicked in his head and he was scrambling to his feet and clumsily piling hats -- the same colour as his cheeks right now -- onto the shelf as he tried to ignore the muffled giggles of a few of the mall patrons.

Right... no one he knew had seen that, right? Scowling, he looked around for his _own_ hat -- brown, it couldn't blend in THAT easily -- and stopped as his eyes landed on something amidst the sea of blush-coloured confections. Something that stood out starkly blue against the pastel background. Reaching out, he plucked the little package from the shelf and held it up to look at it. It was a little package of hairclips, the sort that he'd seen girls wear in their hair. They were even similar in design to the ones Inoue wore, with their simple silver pins. But rather than crystalline blue flowers, these were all in silver, in the shape of little rabbit's heads, the eyes picked out with polished blue stones the shade of the sky.

Staring at the package for a moment, he felt the faintest hint of a smile ghost across his face as he curled fingers around it and headed towards the counter. Maybe his dignity could take a little bit of bruising to find the perfect little scrap of blue for _his_ perfect blue.


	8. Day 8 - Medicine of the Heart

"I _said_ stop being such a huge baby and open up."

Fingers clenched around the cool glass of the thermometer as black eyebrows drew together in a frustrated expression. This was ridiculous. Here she was, when she could be enjoying a perfectly good manga and instead she was stuck engaged in a staring contest with her overgrown baby of a boyfriend. And all over a little thing like a thermometer. Growling, Rukia fixed him with a scowl, determined to somehow -- though the idea in and of itself was laughable -- outfrown Ichigo. Not that_ that_ was likely to happen. Ever. But she could still try.

Levering the glass rod, she caught her lower lip between her teeth thoughtfully. She needed his mouth open. "How" was really a moot point, as it didn't matter to her seeing as how he was _going_ to open up, whether it was voluntarily or not. Now to just figure out the way that caused her the least amount of irritation.

"Ichigo, either you're going to open up and say ahhh or I'm going to MAKE you. Your choice."

From his vantage point on the bed, backed up in the corner, blankets yanked up to his chin and brown eyes glaring obstinately back at her, Ichigo shook his head with a snarl. He was NOT sick, and even if he _had_ been, there was no way in hell he was trusting _Rukia_ of all people, to take care of him. Girlfriend or not. And yes, his mind still did wince slightly everytime he applied that label -- it was just so downright _weird_ really, to think of her that way -- but he supposed he was getting used to it. Slowly. But that was hardly the problem at hand. Gaze still focused on the thermometer, he shook his head again, clamping his mouth shut for a moment and wishing he knew how to melt through walls. Then he could get the hell AWAY from the crazy midget and her insistence on doctoring him. He was NOT sick.

Said thought was interrupted by a violent sneeze that cracked his head against the wall. Damned wall. Reminding himself to punch it later, he resumed glaring at her. "NO. Quit being stupid, I'm not sick. And even if I WAS sick, the hell makes you think I'd let you make me _worse_?"

He was going to win this argument. Nevermind that he'd never won one before -- there'd been a few times where he'd _thought_ he'd won, and gloated over his victory only to find that was the outcome she'd wanted all along, the sneaky bitch -- he was damned determined that_ this_ one would be different. After all, it wasn't like she could _really_ force him to open his mouth, right? Sure, she was meaner -- THAT was about the only thing he rarely ever argued with her about -- but he was still stronger. And that had to count for _something_.

"Oh really? Then how about you get the hell up and walk without stumbling? Oh, or manage to actually hold onto Zangetsu for long enough to hit something. Or stop hogging every blanket in the house when it's _80 degrees_ outside. Now Open. UP!"

Her most recent demand was accompanied by the rather sudden grind of her shoe against his _bare_ \-- ok, so maybe she WAS heartless -- foot. Which of course, elicited a yell, along with a series of rather uncomplimentary phrases, all of which directed towards that dark-haired harpy who wouldn't just _leave him the hell alone_ and let him shiver in silence. Said protests were cut off as she unceremoniously shoved the glass rod into his mouth, one arm snaking around his neck in a vice-like grip to make sure he couldn't get out of it. Damn woman.

"If you bite down you'll just choke on glass and I'll have to listen to you whine, so just SHUT UP and wait two minutes, dumbass."

Ok, so fine. He'd have to wait until the _next_ argument to try and win, and he'd have to make sure to demand no dirty tricks this time. Not that she was likely to listen, but it never hurt to demand it, he supposed. That out of the way, he resigned himself to glowering at her over the edge of the blankets as she laid the other hand against his forehead. It probably would have been a tender gesture, but right now it just seemed more like she was mocking him -- when was she ever NOT mocking him -- by acting like a concerned, sweet, caring girlfriend and not the bossy, overbearing shrimp that she was.

"God, you're burning up. And you actually think you're fooling anyone? Moron."

Pulling it out of his mouth, she studied it with a smug sense of victory. 102. Idiot. Like he really thought he was going to fool anyone like that? Turning it around in her hand so he could see the lines, she cocked an eyebrow at him.

"See? I _told_ you you were sick. Now stay the hell in bed. I'll get some stuff from your dad to bring your fever down. Are you hungry?"

Still growling, he yanked the covers up higher with a scoff, fixing her with a scathing glare. "NO. I'm not hungry, and I DON'T need your help. I can take care of myself, Rukia, I don't need a damned nursemaid. Besides, if I wanted to get BETTER, I'd have Yuzu take care of me. At least that way I won't end up _sicker_."

That might have been a bad move, as her fist caught him in the jaw. And she said she wanted to take care of him? Somehow he didn't think punching him in the mouth really counted along those lines.

"Jerk! You don't get to decide. And I'm not inflicting you on poor Yuzu. She's helping your dad, with patients who actually _appreciate_ it. So just shut up and get over it."

Rubbing his jaw with a scowl, he snarled back at her. This was just not fair. Not just because she was being unreasonable -- hell, the first time she'd ever tried to cook for him, he'd thought he was going to die. Or at least, that his stomach was going to melt out of his body -- seeing as how he doubted she knew AT ALL how to really take care of anyone, but he didn't WANT to be taken care of. He wasn't supposed to be sick, to be the one relying on everyone else. It was supposed to be the other way around, that's what he DID. He protected them, his family, his nakama. Even her. It didn't really matter that germs were not listed amongst his rather extensive list of enemies, the thought was the same. _He_ was the strong one, and she didn't GET IT, because if she had -- not that he gave most girls much credit in that department, but Rukia was different somehow and he'd actually thought she might -- then she'd do the thing that his _guy_ friends did, and just ignore it and let him take care of things. That was the way of men, after all. Tough it out, be bold and brave and don't do any "weak pansy-ass shit".

And being sick apparently fell under the realm of "weak pansy-ass shit". Turning away, he resisted the urge to fling a pillow across the room in frustration -- not to mention the way even just the motion of turning made his head swim.. "Just cut it out, Rukia. I'm FINE. Just get me some Aspirin and go away. I don't _need_ he-OWW!"

His tirade was cut off by her fingers squeezing his nose so hard it made his eyes water as she leaned in to rest her forehead against his shoulder for a moment. "Can't you just let someone else take care of _you_ for once? You take care of us enough..... let us give some back."

All set to yell at her again, he instead found himself dumbfounded by the simple honesty in her statement -- whispered though it was, as though it were hard for her to even say the words -- and simply stopped resisting, staring at her with a rather confused look as she pulled back with a faint smile and plopped an icepack onto his head before leaning in to press lips softly to his forehead. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it? I'll be back in a few minutes, I had Yuzu heat up some soup."

He watched her head out the door, mind still stunned into silence for a moment before he scowled and crossed arms over his chest, hunkering down into the blankets. Women. Fine, he'd let her take care of him. But that didn't mean he had to_ like_ it.


End file.
